


Feathers and flame

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Birds, Crack, Explosions, Fluff, Gen, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 15:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11831607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: Max has been turned into a raven. That's not common knowledge around the Citadel, but the bird's behaviour is kind of familiar...Remix of donda’s wonderfulCorvus
 Cormax. The original fic was inspired byIcarusdusoleil'smanymarvelloussketchesofRaven!Max(some of the later sketches were in turn inspired by Donda's fic).





	Feathers and flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Donda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donda/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Corvus cormax](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6170671) by [Donda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donda/pseuds/Donda). 



Axle is peacefully checking his spark plugs when he hears the noise. It’s coming from the next bay of the garage: Furiosa’s voice, exasperated rather than angry, together with clattering and a swooshing sound that he can’t quite place. It’s not until he hears the squawking that he recognises it. Of all things, it’s a bird.

Birds aren’t unknown around the Citadel, with its plentiful crops and water. It’s hard to protect food sources from above. The Wretched won’t waste a scrap, but that won’t stop a determined crow. War boys had had regular rations, or at least fairly regular rations, so he hadn’t been affected before. Since the revolution, he’d spent more time with the former Wretched, enough to hear complaints about birds. Only yesterday, he’d heard grumbles about thieving ravens.

Still, it was weird to see one so far inside. The black, flapping creature hadn’t just swooped in through a window: it must have come down winding corridors, far away from natural light, from the smell of fresh air and water.

Right now, it’s perched on the fender of Furiosa’s truck, a solid but somehow rumpled creature. It looks healthy enough, not scrawny or tattered, though a couple of twisted feathers stick up untidily from the smooth, glossy head. There must be good eating on something that size, and Axle has a friend who knows how to roast things on a fire.

“I can get it out of here for you,” he offers, after watching Furiosa flick her oil rag at the creature. Oddly, it steps back at that, as if it could hear him. Axle supposes that birds must see human speech as a threat – which it mostly will be.

He lunges suddenly, hoping to take the bird by surprise. It shifts out of reach. Oddly, it starts by walking rather than flying, taking off only when Axle keeps chasing it. It’s a rather ungainly flyer, flapping and ruffling its feathers, but makes it to the top of a supply cabinet. Even a tall person would strain to reach it there, and Axle is short. He looks up at it, wondering if he could climb up before it flies away. The bird – a raven? A crow? – seems to know what he’s thinking: it backs away from the edge of the cabinet.

“You’ll make a mess chasing it around here, is what you’ll do. Leave it be,” Furiosa sighs. Axle wants to disagree. The bird isn’t too good a flyer, he’s sure he can catch it. Still, Furiosa is not to be argued with, not without very, very good reason. He nods, and goes back to his spark plugs.

***

The next time Axle sees Furiosa, she has the raven perched on her shoulder. Neither of them looks entirely comfortable about it.

The bird scrabbles a little with its feet, and once half-opens its wings to balance, feathers brushing against Furiosa’s neck. She stops and holds still, giving the creature time to right itself. Axle can’t help laughing, particularly when he sees the raven’s reaction. It looks so grumpy, hunching its dishevelled head between its shoulders, as if he’s offended it. Then he catches Furiosa’s eye, and decides he doesn’t need to comment out loud.

It’s not long before the raven is established as her pet. It follows her around, riding her shoulder or perching nearby when she’s at work. Axle sees her feeding it scraps of a ration square, and even letting it sit to the engine she’s working on. It’s obviously a clever creature, probably already trained. Once, he sees it bring her a spanner.

It’s a fairly simple trick, but he can’t help noticing that it’s the right spanner. Axle isn’t a full-time blackthumb yet, though he’s been learning. He isn’t sure that he would have selected the correct size so quickly.

He grins, thinking maybe he should have spanners for the tattoo he’s planning: a permanent reminder. It’s not a serious idea, just a sign that he has tattoos on the brain. With all the changes at the Citadel, some of the former war boys are repurposing their V8 scarifications, finding different things to celebrate. It started with alterations to existing body art, but has spread, with new designs being thought up from scratch.

Axle and a couple of his friends don’t have real tattoos yet. They’d still been pups, really, when the revolution happened, not old enough for major work. Of course they’d had elaborate plans, designs of engine parts and skulls. Looking back, it’s just as well they hadn’t been ready; his own first thoughts had been wildly ambitious and over-elaborate. He’s enjoying the discussing and planning, but he knows he hasn’t got the right theme yet.

He doesn’t want anything religious, but likes the idea of a more personal image, modding his body the way he’s learning to mod vehicles. War boys of the past had used scarification to boast about what they’d done, but Axle hasn’t really done much yet. He wants something that will express his ambitions, something that will encourage him. He’s still thinking about it as he gets ready for the afternoon’s trade run, as crew to the new rig.

He’s surprised to find the bird coming along, too, sitting on Furiosa’s shoulder as she climbs into the cab. He can’t help leaning down from his spot on the roof to see what it does next. The raven has settled itself on the back of the passenger seat, apparently entirely at home.

It’s not a quiet run. Halfway there, Axle hears a scream of “Attack!” from the lookout, and gets ready to fight.

There are four cars, none particularly big, but all in reasonable shape, with plenty of aggressive mods bristling on their bodywork. They’re fast, too, but they can’t match the smoothness of Citadel teamwork, the way pursuit vehicles weave in and out around the rig. Axle gets one of the enemy cars with his first lance. It’s not enough to knock it out of the fight, but the flames won’t be helping the driver. A good shot from a pursuit vehicle finishes the job, leaving Axle free to concentrate on a spiky buggy that’s trying to push up against the rig.

A couple of explosions later, he’s looking round for the last car, only to be distracted by Furiosa’s voice. He thinks he hears her calling for Max, the wastelander who has become a regular visitor, but that must be a mistake: the man drove off dozens of days ago, and hasn’t returned yet.

“Get your stupid bird ass back in here!” Furiosa is still shouting, braking hard. “You’ll blow yourself up…”

Axle can hardly credit it, but there’s the raven, out of the rig and flying low over the last attacking vehicle. Its wings are beating frantically, and no wonder. There’s a bulky something clutched in its claws, a cylinder with a dangling strap. The other pursuit vehicles had slowed to keep pace with the rig, but now they’re speeding up, lancers ready to aim.

A thunderstick misses as the vehicle swerves. The raven veers off to follow the attacking car. Its size means it can manoeuvre quickly, tracking the enemy, gaining height as it goes. Axle doesn’t understand what the bird is trying to do, but it’s clearly plotting something. Then the raven puts on more speed, managing to pull ahead of the car, and lets go of its burden.

The cylinder seems to fall slowly, bouncing onto the hood of the car, up onto its roof. Then it goes off.

The explosion is huge, sending out a whoosh of air that Axle can feel hot against his skin. It catches the bird, too, lofting it up into the air with an angry squawk. But it does the job. The vehicle flips, rolling over and going up in a blaze. The raven’s caw sounds like a war cry, as it swoops back to the rig. That’s the end of that battle.

It’s an odd thing with trade runs: if there’s trouble on the way, it’s often followed by more of the same. As the crew pile off the rig at the Bullet Farm, ready to follow Furiosa, Axle notices an aggressive edge to the atmosphere. They’ve already done a couple of runs to the new Bullet Farm regime, but it’s a more fragile peace than they have with Gastown. The new leader is aggressive, with a kind of posturing that Axle admits he might once have admired. More recently, he’s encountered other kinds of leadership, some imposing, some homespun, but all of them more grounded than the new Bullet Farmer.

He and his bodyguards are waiting for the Citadel team, standing around in front of a pile of ammunition crates. He stares when he catches sight of the raven, openly rude. The bird seems to have got the hang of shoulders, sitting firmly on Furiosa’s, though Axle has to admit it’s showing signs of the recent battle. Stepping up behind her, he can smell a whiff of singed feathers, and that scruffy headfeather isn’t the only one out of place.

“Didn’t think you were the type to keep a waste of resources like that around,” the Bullet Farmer jeers. There’s a snicker from the bodyguards around him.

“Pretty ratty bird,” one of them agrees. The raven clacks its beak, for all the world as if it understands but doesn’t care what this rabble thinks.

“I would just put it out of its misery and eat it, if I were you,” adds another of the guards. Axle, who had recently had plans for roasted raven, is surprised to find that he’s indignant. The bird is weird, he admits, and untidy, but if Furiosa wants to keep it around, that’s her business. Besides, Axle has to respect a creature with such a gift for explosives.

“We came here for business,” Furiosa says, her voice flat and bored.

“Right. Business. The usual deal, I presume?” The Bullet Farmer gestures to the crates. Furiosa tilts her head, calculating. Then she nods to her crew.

“You won’t mind if I make sure it includes everything we agreed on.” It’s not a question. Axle is already moving forward, ready to check the merchandise. The Bullet Farmer doesn’t try to stop him, but he tries another jibe.

“God forbid the new princess of the Citadel doesn’t get all her munitions.” Axle glances back, wondering how Furiosa will take that. She’s standing still and calm, looking as if a desert storm couldn’t ruffle her, much less the Bullet Farmer’s sneers. If anything, he’s got more of a reaction from the bird, which is crouched low on her shoulder. The Farmer turns to check the Citadel crew’s progress, catches Axle watching him.

“Your War Boys were quick to change loyalties,” he says, turning back to Furiosa. “No doubt because of the special favours you must offer them...” His voice drops off into a lewd whisper. Axle misses the next few words, though he hears an intake of breath from the war boy nearest the Bullet Farmer.

The raven launches itself from Furiosa’s shoulder. Astonishingly, she catches it before it can attack, grabbing her pet by one wing. There’s a small scuffle, with indignant flapping as the bird dangles from her flesh hand.

“Best keep your pet under control.” The Bullet Farmer is trying hard to sneer, but he’s rattled; everyone saw how he stepped back from the threat of the bird’s attack.  
Furiosa slowly extends her metal arm, that marvel of salvage and engineering. She lets the bird get settled on her steel forearm, then releases its wing, though she moves her hand quickly to its breast, holding it in place.

“He can sense weakness,” she tells the Bullet Farmer. Is that a hint of amusement in her voice? “You might not want to throw insults to cover up your own insecurities.”

“It’s all here, Boss,” Ace says. Axle jumps: he’d stopped the work of checking the crates, mesmerised by the standoff.

“Good, swap the cargo,” Furiosa agrees. They do, at speed, giving those Bullet Farm schlangers a sight of Citadel efficiency. In minutes, they’re back in their own vehicles, loaded up and headed for home. When Axle glances in the window of the rig, he sees the raven back on the passenger seat, entirely at its ease.

***

The next morning, Axle meets his friends Lug and Leaf on the way to the meal hall. Leaf works in the Citadel gardens, but she hopes to train for the rig crew, and even she’s talking about Furiosa’s new raven. It’s a chrome bird, they agree – flying into battle as if it were awaited in Valhalla, stepping up to its mistress’s defense.

“I thought I heard her call it Max,” says Lug, who had been on the trade run yesterday. Axle nods.

“Maybe she named it after the wastelander,” he suggests. “D’you think she misses him? He’s been gone a while now…”

“Or it just reminded her of him. Did you see that explosion?”

By this time, they’re all laughing, carried away by the idea of the raven blowing things up. Leaf jokes that maybe the bird really is the wastelander.

“Under a spell, maybe,” she suggests. As an idea, it’s ridiculous but oddly persuasive. He’s already like something from a campfire tale, so why not? The way the raven interacts with Furiosa is uncanny enough, even for a trained bird. And the scale of that boom was certainly Max-like. For someone who can stretch out supplies almost infinitely, that man gets through explosives like nobody’s business.

They’re still giggling about it when they reach the meal hall, where they find Furiosa just ahead of them. She’s carrying the raven, snuggled in against her shoulder. This close, Axle can see the fluffiness of the feathers around its beak, the way it rests its bulk firmly against her. She hasn’t had it long, he knows, but it seems amazingly trusting, in spite of everything he’s heard about wild creatures.

She puts it down on the counter so she can pick up a plate. It hops over, watching as she chooses her food.

“Pretty loyal bird,” Axle says, admiring. “Where did you get it, Boss?”

“He was…” her voice trails off as she turns to the raven, which looks back at her, its eyes bright and intelligent. “A gift. From a friend.”

“Saw him go after the Bullet Farmer yesterday,” Axle continues. “Is he trained to attack or something?” Furiosa looks wrongfooted by the question, though he can’t think why: surely it’s shine to have such a brave bird.

“No, he, ah… just didn’t like the Bullet Farmer. Apparently,” she adds, shooting the raven a glance. The bird gives a short croak, as if shrugging off criticism.

“Can’t blame him,” Axle admits, reaching out towards the bird. “Can I pet him?”  
His answer comes from the raven, rather than from Furiosa. The bird bites his finger, a hard nip. Axle yelps, pulling his hand away. It’s not bleeding, but the raven’s beak has left a mark.

“He doesn’t like being touched,” Furiosa says. Well, Axle had gathered that.

He’s still looking at his fingers as he rejoins Lug and Leaf, who are amused but sympathetic. They ask to see his hand, exclaim over the mark. The bite looks rather like a scarification tattoo, a ridge in his skin.

“Maybe… maybe a raven?” Axle says, his mind sliding back to his tattoo planning. He thinks of the bird’s behaviour yesterday: a small, brave creature making a big impact in the world. “A raven, with an explosion…” He and Lug and Leaf spend the whole meal debating patterns: flames and feathers.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
